"Hey, hows things? My names Imogen and I'm here on behalf of *said charity*. I'm raising awaremess in the community today, and fundraising as well--"
"-- Don't you try and tell me about *I refuse to type it again* my girl, I'm eighty two year old and I think I know more about them than you."
"Yes, but they've been around even longer than you. Have you heard of our--"
"Don't patronise me! And *screeches* I'm not deaf, luvvie."

Huh.

My general approach is, to be blunt, to flirt shamelessly with whoever answers the door, as I have next to no interest in the aforementioned charity, and, as such, haven't learned the facts and figures needed for the job.

So I flirt my little heart out, and this is bobbins. Of the first water.

Until- "Oh, don't you bother flirting with me babe, I'm gay."
"Yeah, I know. So, about St John..."

Or- "I've slept with a girl from every continent", he said.
"Oh. Right. So anyway, I'm sure you're aware St John is a charity..."
"Except from, ah, are you Australian? Kiwi?"
"Fuck, no."

I have absolutely no idea what I did to deserve something like that *mentally apologises to hilarious Oz housemate*

Obviously, the whole fundraising thing gets rather dull, so we, the fundraisers, make up little tasks to get us through the day- like dancing. The trick is to do a dance on every door on a street without being noticed. More recently, we designed our own charity; the one we'd all fundraise for, given a choice.

Take this with a pinch of salt- I've heard enough sob stories about dead family members, and how the remaining family's charitable output goes to cancer charities, so we created our own.

Cancer relief.

Just picture the scene- Hey, hows things? My names Imogen, I'm here on behalf of Cancer Relief- surely you've heard of us? No? Well! *incredulous look* we're a relief charity. For cancer. I'm sure something you will know is that there are millions of cancer sufferers worldwide, and we work to cure them. For good.

A remarkable amount of people will sign up here.

Ah, wait! We do this by the simple means of placing a piece of complicated modern technology imported from Zimbabwe to the sufferers forehead, and by the simple means of pressing a button we end their suffering. I'm sure you wouldn't want people suffering from an entirely random illness that could strike down anyone *meaningful glance* to have to continue suffering just because we have a shortage of funds?

No? Great, so your neighbours have been helping us out with the equivalent of three or four pounds a week that comes out in a once yearly sum, how much can you do?
Not that much? Oh, I'm sure the cancer sufferers will understand, some people just can't afford to help.

Disclaimer: Not that I think cancer is funny. Nor do I put pressure on people to give the charity I was working "on behalf of" more money than they can afford to give - which also explains why I've been paid a pathetic amount for the last six weeks, due to the whole being paid on commission thing.
My only excuse for the existence of Cancer Relief is that I'm bitter, and slightly sleep deprived. And have been living with a group of fantastic people in the same emotional state.

More to follow, but in the meantime I have to go salvage some food from my mothers' kitchen.
Is there anything quite as depressing as finding six bottles of milk in the fridge, four of which have gone off? And the other two have yet to be tested, because I'm not sure my caffiene addiction will be able to handle it.

Don't even get me started on the state of the other, formerly solid, contrents of the fridge.